Do not be misled by the title of my blog post. It was not, in fact, a cruel summer. We were certainly braced for another 12 months of non stop rain and The Endless Grey. We had to be, to hope for anything more would be decidedly UN British. And foolish, given the past couple of years. But we had a heatwave! It was like being in Florida! It was great!
.......and it kept being hot! And no one has air conditioning! Forget the Tube or the bus! It was some kind of face melting wonderful on board public transit! Seriously, can we be England again?!
DS, my mother in law and myself spent the morning at Ruislip Lido. We had a picnic, there's something that everyone has decided to call a 'beach' even though you're to steer clear of the 'water' at the 'beach, a brand new cafe has started up which does pretty good coffee, and there's even a water park and little train station. Oh, yeah, and HORDES OF WASPS. EVERYWHERE. BEING REALLY AGGRESSIVE. HUNTING YOU DOWN FOR YOU SWEET SWEET HUMAN FOOD.
That's when I realised that enough was enough. I am ready for Autumn. I want to bust out the cinnamon scented candles, the huge knit jumpers, the tartan scarves and matching gloves, and I want it to be socially acceptable to load up a new pin board for Christmas, dammit.
We've done pretty well this year, we've all got tans and are busy scrubbing months of accumulated sun cream out of our pores. Sure, the odd rainstorm or two has served to remind us of our place in the worldwide weather lottery, but I think we should just quit while we're ahead and embrace the Gloom, will it to come even! I'm currently working on a rain/grey dance routine, and am happily accepting any volunteers into my troupe.
But, I digress. I really wanted to start this entry to express how caught up I get sometimes in being stressed, that I forget to live in the Now. I think most people alive today don't live in the Now. It's far too easy to be looking ahead, planning the next big life event, work project, home project, or counting down to when Sherlock is going to be back on the telly, already. Thankfully, I have this great little In The Now alarm system. It's called a near three year old. His whole day is the Now. He's the mayor of Nowtown. He reminds me when I'm caught out worrying about what time I should be preparing the evening's dinner so that I can finish that load of laundry in enough time to hang it out to dry so I don't have to clog up my kitchen with the clothes horse, and if that's there then I won't be able to hoover or mop it either - MUMMY - COME SEE - THERE'S A KITTY CAT OUTSIDE - MUMMMMMMMMMMMY!
Oh man. It's only 8 am, what the heck am I doing, oh yeah, righteous, cat. Sweet, thanks son.
Nothing in my list of things I was obsessing over could possibly be as important to me as seeing that kitty cat is to him. Not only seeing the kitty cat, but sharing the moment with me.
There we are folks.
That is the Now.
I was in the Now today at the Lido as I watched him prance around the water park, surprised and amazed each and every single time the water spouts popped up in a new place (of about 6 possible places that they pop up at in a loop). He squealed with delight, his skin shone in the mid afternoon sun, slick with cream, water and that special childhood glow; a mix of exuberance and absolute unchecked joy.
He doesn't care how he looks when he slips, half skidding into a crouch to break his fall, he doesn't mind who might see his trunks ride up, or if he skins a knee, or two. There is water! There are other kids! There is Mummy! All is right with his world (and mine), as he knows it.
We had a cracking day, you know. Often, as is my custom when I have cracking days, I think about the life I very easily could have led, back in my homeland, slaving away at a job that I hated, settling for someone who wasn't my soul mate, not seeing Paris, London, Finland or the other amazing experiences I have had and will get to have now that I am amongst this beautiful life, with beautiful people who I adore.
Very bloody fortunate is how I feel. A little girl from Appleton am I no longer.
These truly are the best years, as hard and complex and agonizing as it may be to raise a tiny human into a responsible adult, as much as you think you are screwing it up (you probably aren't, but I have yet to meet a mother of a small child(ren) who doesn't think she is more or less just stumbling around blindfolded in the woods during a hurricane, trying to thread many needles), as many seconds-minutes-nights-days pass without restful sleep, it is being in the Now with your child, with your loved ones, that you realise, it will never be better than this.
I know this down to my bones.
I will summon this knowledge on the less than cracking days; after the third change of pants in as many minutes, the second missed bus in the pouring rain, the first heartbreak, the innumerable amounts of questions that I will struggle to both understand and answer during my lifetime tenure as Mum.
So next time you find yourself cursing under your breath, shaking with fright, rage, or sadness. Think of something like this day, or your best version of it. Then take a deep breath, breathing is good.
And release.
X
Showing posts with label mommy stuff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mommy stuff. Show all posts
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Caffeine is required.
Okay.
So...........I know originally I said I was going to keep this blog light and positive and funny, AND I am happy to do this, when I am feeling these things. But, I also feel it's important to make it a fair reflection of The Motherhood.
Today, I am struggling. DS is a high energy, very bright and exhausting child. This morning he was up at 5:45. DH got up with him initially, I took over at 6:30. He's the kind of child who is 0-60MPH from the second his eyes open, to the second they close at night. (Which is sometimes a two hour plus ordeal, but that's an entry for another day.)
I can deal with it. I love him. It's putting me through my paces, and I am fairly confident he will mellow in the next couple of years and we can all look back at how frantic it all was and laugh, tossing our heads triumphantly into the sun of a bright afternoon while we sip lattes and turn appreciative looks of pity unto the young frantic mothers who pass us by, so much like our former selves it endears stranger to stranger.
But right now, today, when I look around all I see is how DS is nothing like the other children in his football class. He is the only one to display such unbridled enthusiasm and zero attention on the activity. He is simultaneously enraptured and torn away from attentiveness, resulting in a flux of in/out/in/out levels of comprehension. Worse still, he has a mean streak, and when he works himself up into a frenzy, he lashes out. Not often, mind you, but any time at all is enough to make me feel like bursting into tears, putting my hand up and declaring that it is I, the young rubbish mum, who brought forth into the world the feral child who just smacked yours. Please accept my apologies. Pass your judgement. Go on, etc.
Of course, I take a deep breath, I catch myself from falling into the pit of despair and I remind myself that he is at a difficult age, all children have different personalities, he will mature, he is kind hearted, and mainly the people around me offer gentle looks of commiseration and support. They toss their shoulders up and shake their heads, smiles creeping across their faces as they do so, as if to say. "Been there."
It is true. We've most of us Been There. When you are there it is quite easy to listen only to the harsh whispers of an ignorant few; those that have never had a small human, or have simply allowed the years to dull memories of the sheer terror of the Been There days. Far too easy to superimpose angry mob faces onto harmless strangers; fellow parents, nobodies, everybodies.
I am going to keep breathing, keep reassuring myself that I am not Rubbish Mum Ruining The Child, and maybe tomorrow we won't be here.
It's getting easier, even as I write.
X
So...........I know originally I said I was going to keep this blog light and positive and funny, AND I am happy to do this, when I am feeling these things. But, I also feel it's important to make it a fair reflection of The Motherhood.
Today, I am struggling. DS is a high energy, very bright and exhausting child. This morning he was up at 5:45. DH got up with him initially, I took over at 6:30. He's the kind of child who is 0-60MPH from the second his eyes open, to the second they close at night. (Which is sometimes a two hour plus ordeal, but that's an entry for another day.)
I can deal with it. I love him. It's putting me through my paces, and I am fairly confident he will mellow in the next couple of years and we can all look back at how frantic it all was and laugh, tossing our heads triumphantly into the sun of a bright afternoon while we sip lattes and turn appreciative looks of pity unto the young frantic mothers who pass us by, so much like our former selves it endears stranger to stranger.
But right now, today, when I look around all I see is how DS is nothing like the other children in his football class. He is the only one to display such unbridled enthusiasm and zero attention on the activity. He is simultaneously enraptured and torn away from attentiveness, resulting in a flux of in/out/in/out levels of comprehension. Worse still, he has a mean streak, and when he works himself up into a frenzy, he lashes out. Not often, mind you, but any time at all is enough to make me feel like bursting into tears, putting my hand up and declaring that it is I, the young rubbish mum, who brought forth into the world the feral child who just smacked yours. Please accept my apologies. Pass your judgement. Go on, etc.
Of course, I take a deep breath, I catch myself from falling into the pit of despair and I remind myself that he is at a difficult age, all children have different personalities, he will mature, he is kind hearted, and mainly the people around me offer gentle looks of commiseration and support. They toss their shoulders up and shake their heads, smiles creeping across their faces as they do so, as if to say. "Been there."
It is true. We've most of us Been There. When you are there it is quite easy to listen only to the harsh whispers of an ignorant few; those that have never had a small human, or have simply allowed the years to dull memories of the sheer terror of the Been There days. Far too easy to superimpose angry mob faces onto harmless strangers; fellow parents, nobodies, everybodies.
I am going to keep breathing, keep reassuring myself that I am not Rubbish Mum Ruining The Child, and maybe tomorrow we won't be here.
It's getting easier, even as I write.
X
Monday, June 17, 2013
Would I Were Beside Her.
You know what's a funny old thing? Anxiety. More specifically, social anxiety. When I was younger, I had the uncanny ability to take an innocuous question, sentence, or glance in my direction and turn it into a veritable dissertation on Why The Source of Said Thing Hates Me. I read between lines that probably didn't even exist. I would question even the most solid and long lasting of friendships and connections. I had faith in nothing.
Of course, now I know that was due to a number of factors including insecure attachment, repressed emotions and general childhood rubbishness, but at the time I was absolutely certain of one thing: my position as an Untouchable. Unworthy, Undesirable. All the Uns, basically. The Uns are not a good set of adjectives to wrap yourself in. Much as they seem like a comforting blanket of misery, because misery is comfortable when you're used to it, and quite predictable. They are decidedly not a sustainable way of keeping warm.
The reason I am blogging about this now and not some adorable anecdote, is I think that there are days when it still happens for me (and it is important to accept those days). A conversation is cut short, a topic is glossed over, a nicety seems a touch less..nice than it ought to have. But this will last approximately as much time as it takes me to draw in a breath and remind myself of who I am, of what I am certain and of what makes me ME. I know all these things now, and I didn't when I was young, and I didn't exactly feel like anyone was reminding me when I needed to be reminded that I wasn't worthless.
I will endeavour every day to remind DS, in case he is likely to forget (which he probably won't, if you've ever met him, you know this) that he is beautiful, special, clever, wanted, love, and most of all, he is him. There isn't anyone else like him, and as long as he keeps his heart pure and his intentions good, if someone does truly ostracise him or hate him, it's a statement about themselves, not him. I want to be his strength and his shelter, and everything else that I know now as an adult that I was in so dire a need of as a child.
As a mother to a son who will be a person in this world amongst so many other people, I have bitten the bullet and taken a stand to say, I believe in love, I believe in good, and my various anxieties don't enter into it.
Still, it's funny how conditioning works, and in spite of 5 years of retraining myself, I haven't quite rid it all from my bones. But I am working on it.
I am happy to be working on it.
X
Of course, now I know that was due to a number of factors including insecure attachment, repressed emotions and general childhood rubbishness, but at the time I was absolutely certain of one thing: my position as an Untouchable. Unworthy, Undesirable. All the Uns, basically. The Uns are not a good set of adjectives to wrap yourself in. Much as they seem like a comforting blanket of misery, because misery is comfortable when you're used to it, and quite predictable. They are decidedly not a sustainable way of keeping warm.
The reason I am blogging about this now and not some adorable anecdote, is I think that there are days when it still happens for me (and it is important to accept those days). A conversation is cut short, a topic is glossed over, a nicety seems a touch less..nice than it ought to have. But this will last approximately as much time as it takes me to draw in a breath and remind myself of who I am, of what I am certain and of what makes me ME. I know all these things now, and I didn't when I was young, and I didn't exactly feel like anyone was reminding me when I needed to be reminded that I wasn't worthless.
I will endeavour every day to remind DS, in case he is likely to forget (which he probably won't, if you've ever met him, you know this) that he is beautiful, special, clever, wanted, love, and most of all, he is him. There isn't anyone else like him, and as long as he keeps his heart pure and his intentions good, if someone does truly ostracise him or hate him, it's a statement about themselves, not him. I want to be his strength and his shelter, and everything else that I know now as an adult that I was in so dire a need of as a child.
As a mother to a son who will be a person in this world amongst so many other people, I have bitten the bullet and taken a stand to say, I believe in love, I believe in good, and my various anxieties don't enter into it.
Still, it's funny how conditioning works, and in spite of 5 years of retraining myself, I haven't quite rid it all from my bones. But I am working on it.
I am happy to be working on it.
X
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